


Captain Becker's Identity Crisis

by ExplodedPen, TheLibranIniquity



Category: Primeval
Genre: Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:35:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExplodedPen/pseuds/ExplodedPen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLibranIniquity/pseuds/TheLibranIniquity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Becker's unexpected day off goes viral, he hates on the 80s and is, in fact, a macho, macho man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain Becker's Identity Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> This is our take on what Becker was doing during his absence from 5.02. Exploded Pen also feels the need to point out that we wrote this in less than two hours, so go team.

_2000 hours_  
Becker stormed into the ARC, upper arm itching fiercely beneath its bandage and clutching his phone so tightly it should have broken by now. Technicians and security personnel actually scattered when they saw him. It would have been vaguely satisfying if he hadn't been utterly focused on his destination.

That was the main operations room, and Becker barely had time to take a quick headcount – Matt and Abby in one corner, and Jess at the terminal – before he was greeted with:

“Where the hell have you been?”

It was Matt, uncharacteristically loud and even angry. 

Becker just stared at him. “Where have I... where the hell have you been?”

“We were sorting out an anomaly in the North Sea,” Matt told him. “Could've really done with an extra pair of hands.”

“Captain Becker.” Lester suddenly materialised behind him, Becker turned to see him looking less than impressed. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

o o o o o

 _0830 hours_  
Circular, circular, bank statement, take-away menu, bill...

As a kid Becker had remembered being thrilled at the sound of letters being pushed through the door. Now, looking at the pile of crap Royal Mail had seen fit to deliver him this morning, he was less than enthused about the whole thing.

He dumped the junk mail straight in the bin and opened the bill first. Sufficiently disgusted, he moved onto the bank statement, flicking through the pages with disinterest while he waited for the kettle to finish boiling.

...Then he went back and read the second page again. Then a third time, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, or just mistaken.

He looked around for his phone, and carefully dialled the number on the first page of the statement. Finally, it picked up – only for Becker to be greeted with an automated service.

He took periodic deep breaths and made a point of thinking happy thoughts bereft of explosions, gunfire and big, big tanks. Occasionally he stabbed a button in the hope of reaching a human.

 _“Your call is important to us,”_ a computerised drone told him. _“One of our advisers will be on the line shortly.”_

They weren't. Instead Becker got to listen to a butchered version of Greensleeves that had probably been used in the hope of driving every sucker who called this number into an uncontrollable, unstoppable homicidal rage.

Happy thoughts, he told himself. Dinosaurs. Mossbergs. Anything but this bloody automated system.

Five minutes after Greensleeves had segued into what could only be the worst hits of the 1980's Becker thought there was a glimmer of hope when the music cut off abruptly.

_“Customer services, how may I help you?”_

It sounded like a human, so Becker gave it a shot (only figuratively speaking). “Good morning. I've just been going through my bank statement and I've noticed a couple of incongruities.”

 _“I'm afraid I'm not qualified to help you with that,”_ the voice told him. _“I'm going to have to transfer you to another department.”_

Before Becker could protest, the mangled 80s music started up again, much louder than before. Rather than throw his phone against the wall to make it stop, he took another deep breath, ended the call and checked the time.

He had about half an hour before he was supposed to be at the ARC. All he had to do was call Jess, let her know he might be a little bit late, and go down to the bank and sort this out for himself.

o o o o o

 _2005 hours_  
Becker followed Lester into his office only to freeze when he saw his own, pissed off face glaring down at him from the television monitor.

Lester didn't say anything for a few long minutes, but Becker refused to crack in the silence.

“Explanation, Captain?”

“I had to go to the bank,” Becker replied.

Lester stared at him. “I can see that. And apparently, so can most of Greater London.”

Becker glanced back up. The picture on the screen had changed to that of someone holding a microphone, and the ticker feed running underneath read _Anonymous Hero Foils Robbery Attempt_.

“Nothing to tell,” Becker replied. Nothing that the local news hadn't already picked up, at least.

Lester looked totally unimpressed, and made a point of looking at the bandage peeking out from under Becker's t-shirt sleeve. “Oh, I think there are a few blanks that could be filled in here.”

Becker glanced out of the window to where Matt, Abby and Jess were watching them with clear interest. “Only if you tell me what I seem to have missed here.”

o o o o o

 _0901 hours_  
The manager ushered Becker into her office and shut the door behind them. “So what seems to be the problem, Mr Becker?”

“The problem,” Becker said, mindful to keep his voice quiet and calm and not the least bit angry, “is that there are transactions on my bank statement that I didn't make.” He pulled his bank statement from his pocket, removed the second page and pointed to the offending purchases. “There are several involving a store I don't recognise.”

The manager squinted at the statement a moment before turning to her computer. “One moment, Mr Becker.” She typed at her keyboard, and then turned the monitor towards him. “We have here three purchases from the Tunbridge Wells branch of the Happy-Go-Lucky toy store.” She indicated several lines of text on the screen. “Do these seem familiar to you?”

Becker read the information carefully. “I didn't make any of these purchases,” he confirmed.

“Are you sure? Sometimes it's easy to forget -”

Becker glared at her. “I wouldn't forget spending three hundred pounds on -” He checked the screen. “- a pink Princess Palace Playhouse.” Just saying those words made him feel queasy.

Then something clicked. El and Pat had moved to Tunbridge just before she'd had Penelope, and...

Giles.

Becker squashed down the sudden burst of angry expletives and forced himself to smile at the manager. “I think I've just figured it out. I'm very sorry for wasting your time.”

“So it's not identity theft?” the manager asked. She sounded sceptical, and Becker couldn't blame her.

“Oh, it's theft, all right, but I know who's behind it. Again, I'm really sorry ab -”

He was interrupted by the sound of someone yelling outside, and a loud crash.

“What was that?” the manager asked, staring at the closed door.

Before Becker could do anything, the door opened and someone wearing a balaclava burst in. “You two, get out here, now!”

o o o o o

 _2008 hours_  
Lester crossed his arms. “Do you realise that while you were playing about we had Navy Admirals attempting – and almost succeeding – in starting World War Three?”

“World War Three?” Becker repeated. “Why did no one call me?”

“Jess informed me that you had called to say you were running late,” Lester said, sitting down in his office chair. “When she attempted to call you didn't answer your phone and after that there was little time to spend wasting on finding you.”

Becker suppressed a wince. “I was a little tied up,” he said eventually.

o o o o o

 _0915 hours_  
Becker tested the cable ties keeping his wrists behind his back and tried not to growl. The girl sitting next to him – a customer, given her lack of a name badge – was breathing erratically and on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Come on, deep breaths,” he whispered. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

She locked wide eyes onto his, but started trying to do as he'd said.

“Hey, I said no talking!” One of the robbers – there was a team of them, apparently – waved a handgun in Becker's face. 

Becker just stared back up at him. “She's having a panic attack. The last thing you want is for it to tip over and for her to possibly die.”

The girl squeaked, and Becker winked at her. She still looked scared, but at least she was getting some control over her breathing.

Becker switched his attention back to the robber. “Whatever you think you're going to get out of this, it's not worth it.”

“Oh yeah?” the robber asked. “And what would you know about that, pretty boy?”

Becker shrugged. Any minute now, Matt and the others were going to realise that he wasn't at the ARC and that he wasn't answering his phone. Jess was going to track his black box and the bloody cavalry was going to storm in and stop this mess from getting any bigger.

Any minute now...

Becker felt himself tense as another thought crossed his mind. Of course they would be here, of course they would... unless there was an anomaly. Which would definitely take priority over figuring out why he was late.

When he realised he wasn't going to get anything else out of Becker, the robber waved his gun around a couple more times, probably for effect, then moved out of Becker's sight line. He took the opportunity to look around at the rest of the bank. Three employees and five customers, including himself, had been tied up and made to sit against the wall opposite the cashiers' windows. One of the robbers was with them, and he could see another behind the windows with who he could only assume was the manager, probably making her empty the cash drawers and stocks.

Becker could take down the first robber easily – his legs weren't restrained in any way, and he'd kept up on his hand-to-hand (or leg-to-face in this case) since joining the ARC, but the others were further away and thus more unpredictable.

There was also the possibility that someone had tripped the silent alarm. Becker couldn't hear anything from outside, but that didn't mean that police weren't on their way, or already in position outside.

As much as he hated the idea, he was going to have to wait and see what happened.

o o o o o

 _2015 hours_  
Lester seemed to be fighting an urge to sigh heavily. “So, as I understand it, you were caught in the middle of an attempted bank robbery. And as the news crews understand it, you emerged as the undisputed hero of the piece.”

“While World War Three was being averted here.” Becker stood his ground.

“Yes, yes, all dealt with, water under the bridge, no pun intended.” Lester waved a hand dismissively. “What I want to understand is why the head of security of a top secret government base has seen fit to get himself splashed across the six o'clock news!”

Becker shrugged. “Someone had to do something.”

o o o o o

 _0921 hours_  
A sudden burst of noise from behind the cashiers' windows had everybody in the main room freezing. Becker looked over to see the manager, holding up her hands defensively, shaking her head as the robber next to her gesticulated furiously.

The girl beside him whimpered as one of the robbers guarding them moved swiftly across the room and slammed his hand against the window. “What's the hold up?”

“It's all right,” Becker murmured to the girl. “In through the nose, out through the mouth, remember?”

He watched closely as the two robbers shared a furious, whispered conversation at the first cashiers' window and subconsciously started to push himself upright when he saw the one with the manager jam his handgun against her temple.

Someone _had_ hit the silent alarm, Becker realised, and it looked like in doing so the main vault had been irreversibly locked. Smart really, as a way of minimising monetary loss. Unfortunately the fall out would be... less smart.

The next interruption to proceedings came from outside. _“This is the police! We have you surrounded!”_

The civilians in the bank practically collapsed in unison, their relief palpable. Becker didn't take his eyes off the gunman with the manager.

“Oh, shi -” The gunman out in the main area started waving his arms around. “What are we supposed to do now, Tel? There weren't supposed to be coppers here!”

_“Macho, macho man. I've got to be a macho man!”_

Everybody – including the gunman – froze, some of them looking around for the source of the noise. Becker saw his opportunity and took it, leaping to his feet and kicking the gunman's legs out from underneath him. The man fell heavily to the ground, almost taking Becker with him. He rolled onto his back and Becker kicked him in the chest. 

Behind him he could hear gasps and whimpers – and someone breathing erratically – and in the split second that Becker looked back to check they were all okay, the man underneath him reached for his gun – and fired it at Becker.

A split second after that the police stormed into the bank.

o o o o o

 _2017 hours_  
“And that someone had to be you.” Lester still looked unimpressed, though at least he'd turned the television, and its renewed coverage of Becker's face, off.

Becker shrugged. “I thought my ability to think on my feet was one of the reasons you'd hired me.”

“A decision I regret almost every day,” Lester shot back. “Still, at least no one was killed.”

Becker wondered whether he was talking about the attempted bank robbery, or whatever had gone on here in the meantime.

“So the police took over, you were treated for -” Lester gestured at Becker's bandage. “- that, and presumably you gave your statement to the police.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So tell me, Becker,” Lester continued, leaning back in his chair. “Where the bloody hell were you for the rest of the day?”

o o o o o

 _1617 hours_  
Becker pounded on his sister's front door. “I know you're in there, let me in!”

About a minute later it opened, revealing Giles holding a baby. “Shush you, you're going to wake Pen.”

“Giles.” Becker spared only a cursory glance at his niece. “What. The. Hell?”

Giles grinned. “I have no idea what you're talking about. But do come in, you'll scare the neighbours. Ugh, why so grumpy, Hilary? Pen's happy to see you, aren't you, Penny? Oh, yes you are, Uncle Hilary's a bit special, but he's all right really...”

“Giles,” Becker said, “put the toddler down so I can kill you.”

Tightening his hold on Penelope, Giles' smile started to falter. “What did I do this time?”

“What did you do?” Becker repeated. “How about a pink Princess Palace Playhouse, for starters.”

Right on cue, Penelope gurgled and held her arms out to Becker.

“Aww! There see, she does love you after all.” Giles dumped Penelope into Becker's arms, and he struggled for a bit with the weight before settling her against his chest. “That... magnificent house was Penny's birthday present from you.”

“Really?” Becker said. “Her birthday was six months ago. The _thing_ was purchased two weeks ago – with _my card_.”

Giles grinned. “You owed her for skipping out on the actual birthday to chase livestock in the Peak District, remember?”

Becker looked down at Penelope, now happily poking his face with chubby little fingers. Despite himself, he smiled. “It was for work.”

“Yeah, I know. You still owed her.”

“And let me guess, you were more than happy to help me repay my debt.”

“And then some,” Giles beamed.

That would account for the colour-coordinated princess costume and the oversized stuffed unicorn that had also shown up on the bank manager's screen.

“Where's El?” Becker asked.

Giles shrugged. “Dunno. I'm babysitting,” he added.

“I can see that.” Becker smiled down at Penelope again. “Look, I have to get back to work. I shouldn't even be here. Giles?”

“Yes, oh darling brother of mine?”

Becker smiled sweetly at him. “Give me back my card, or I will kill you slowly and painfully and leave your body in that playhouse.”

“But what about Penny?” Giles was already moving, though, which was something. “You wouldn't dare traumatise her like that.”

“No worse than her apparently spending all this time with you,” Becker said. “Card, now.”

Giles sighed. “Fine.” He dug his wallet out of a jacket hanging in the hallway and held out the card in question. “Three weeks I've had this and you didn't notice? You seriously need a life.”

“I have one,” Becker replied, swapping Penelope for the card.

“So you keep saying.” Giles sighed theatrically again. He held up Penelope's hand and waved it around. “Say bye bye to Uncle Grumpy Pants!”

“Baba!” Penelope beamed.

Becker grinned. The kid was a genius – Giles, much less so.

o o o o o

 _2023 hours_  
Lester stared at him in silence. He appeared to be choosing his next words carefully. “You can be excused for the morning off considering the circumstances. But as you then decided to take off for the afternoon as well, I'm going to class that as an unauthorised day off and dock your salary accordingly.”

“Yes, sir.” Of all the -

“And whatever you're thinking,” Lester said, pointing at him with a pen, “stop it. Now.”

Becker sighed. “Yes, sir.”

He left the office and eyed Matt and Abby. “So no lasting damage, then?” he asked, mostly out of optimism rather than experience.

Matt shrugged. “Can't change it now.” He clapped Abby on the shoulder and started walking away. “Let me know when your report's ready,” he told her.

“Umm, Becker?” Jess piped up from her position at the monitors. “Why were you all over the news earlier?”

_”Macho, macho man. I've got to be a macho man!”_

It was the same song he'd heard in the bank – and this time Becker realised it was coming from his pocket. He could practically feel his ears going red as he fished around for his phone and stared at the caller ID.

It was Giles. “What the hell do you want?” he asked.

 _“You're on Youtube!”_ Giles said. _“Quarter of a million hits and climbing. You're -”_

Becker hung up on him, and ignored Abby and Jess in favour of: “Who. Did. This?”

There was no answer from either of the ladies, but from behind him Becker heard the unmistakeable sound of someone gulping followed by the sound of feet running away. Fast.

He turned around just time to see the apparent culprit.

“Connor!”


End file.
